


An Arioso: Want

by YogurtTime



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, References to Grimm Fairytales, Stream of Consciousness, explicit omake, non linear, references from KAT-TUN style circa 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/YogurtTime
Summary: Junno knows a lot of fairytales. He thinks he may have read them incorrectly.





	An Arioso: Want

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted April 2011

 

**Front : Arioso**

Helpless quiet.

It’s the type of breathing silence where, with each stroke, the oars sliding into the still water become like a thrash. It’s a fluid disturbance, those sharp shifting ripples and the groan of the oar handles in Junno’s fists.

The late afternoon on the still dark water reflects an earthy glow. Golds and browns bathing the cold green mountains while slices of distant sun-setting orange burn between the tree trunks. Koki, curled up in his red hoodie, is leaned back on the other end of the boat, head propped on Junno’s rolled up jacket. They’re working on routine, a strange quiet interchange between rowing and lying back.

“Juniper,” Junno murmurs. He slides forward with each stroke, bringing the oars handles up, dunking them in the water sideways and dragging it back, his shoulders roll with it and Koki blinks.

“What?”

“The tree in the story; it was juniper.

 

 

“I used to read fairytales,” Junno once said because if he told a joke, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as funny as something Koki had said half an hour ago.

Something coiled, hot and rubbery jumped from his chest to his throat once Koki’s round eyes slid from somewhere distant over to him; interest curled the corner of his lips into an absent smile. “Oh yeah?”

It was a weird time, standing on a TV studio roof as Koki settled a white cigarette between his pouting lips. It was cold so Koki’s freezing pink fingers fiddled with a lighter that was nearly out of fluid.

Junno nods.”My sister gave me a book when we were little… western fairytales; German I think.”

“Tell me one.”

Junno freezes, smile caught in eight seconds ago. “OK,” he says, reaching over to take the lighter from Koki, running his thumb briskly along the metal to the white button; fire strikes. Their break is left at fifteen minutes, so he tells Koki about _Rapunzel_.

 

 

Their radio studio is a soundproof room, but the only thing it holds during latent moments is the silences between them. Junno stares across the table those times, chin resting on his interlaced fingers, just gazing.

He sees Koki. All that he is, what he was, fists clenched over both folded husky arms as he leans over the table, running down the radio script. A couple curls are sneaking out of his hat, black and shining like patterned wrought iron. Koki notices Junno’s gaze and glares, ears caught in an abrupt flood of red. Junno thinks of that one fairytale about a tree and a woman staring at the blood-stained snow wanting a boy that probably looked just like Koki.*

In the story, something awful had happened to that boy.

Because of Junno’s silence and clear distraction, Koki introduces the track this time. Bubblegum pop. He’s such a girl, really.

“I’m not doing this alone, you know,” Koki says snappishly as soon as he switches off the mic. Harmonics for genuine concern.

Junno apologises, blinking, trying to remember the name of the tree the boy was buried under.* He very nearly regained the flow of the conversation, but distraction—needle point up his spine -- hits as Koki slides his small black-lacquered nails nervously to the back of his own neck.

 

 

“We’re nearly in the middle of the lake now and you’re getting tired; we should go back…” Koki murmurs, boot heels folded one over the other, lazy smile all sunlight seeping away like liquid being sponged up.

“No, not yet,” Junno breathes, feeling his arms beginning to ache.

“What if the boat tips or we sink?”

Junno pauses, letting the oars lie flat as he loosens his grip and stares at the trees ahead of him. He’s breathing heavily and he can hear the mosquitoes dancing above their heads. “Drown,” Junno says finally with a deep-set frown, somehow overcome with a boiling resolve.

“What?”

“There’s a story where a man…was tipped into the center of a lake.** He drowned”

He’s gifted with a pause of aching silence. Koki isn’t smiling anymore. “Why’d you bring me here really?” he asks, slowly.

Junno’s fingers are calloused from the rub of the oars. _Why_?

They both know why.

 

 

It was Koki’s idea. It was always Koki’s ideas.

“We should straighten your hair,” he says. “You’re boring like this.” Harmonics for interest. A halting narrative for—what was it?

Junno never has much reason to argue. He operates on stilted feelings, impulsives and calculations. Soon, he’s sitting on the floor in front of a television he isn’t actually watching. Koki’s knees keep pressing against his shoulder blades as he clamps Junno’s newly auburn strands in a hot metal iron.

Koki makes random half-joking remarks. “Sit still, for fuck’s sake,” and the even more amusing, “Tell me before you move—fuck—I almost… you’ll be sorry for what _else_ I can do with this iron.”

It’s fine like this and they’re laughing and though he feels a thrill of unease at Koki’s small and unsure fingers gripping the iron, he leans back between Koki’s thighs, thinking of fun things to say. He can only think of Koki’s curls, surprisingly garish and messy and getting longer and longer with each day.

The pictures in Junno’s book portray Rapunzel as fragile and beautiful. Her tiny hands—even smaller and rounder than Koki’s—are over her painted face as the villain, hair dark and expression laced with the prejudice of greed, holds Rapunzel’s shining gold hair in what looks like desperate fingers. The next page depicts a shorn and gaunt Rapunzel-- a waif wandering a desert—as if the very state of too much change had murdered her inside.***

It became Junno’s secret phobia, when he was young. Never cutting it too thin, never changing the way he combed it. If he thought he looked dull in black, he’d dye it a little bit brown. He’d hold his breath whenever he visited the stylist, waiting for his cheeks to go waxy, waiting for his soul to float out from the dark wet strands dropping to the floor.

Koki cuts and changes his hair based only on mood. He’d go from orange to brown to black on mere whim. Then he’d go from long to short after a bad breakup. Once, he’d gone completely bald, leaving only little velvety brush—Astroturf-- of black. Junno frets, though he knows it’s silly, but Koki doesn’t lose any of his energy, none of his loud retorts and when he flips his lid, the toe of his shoe against Junno’s tailbone doesn’t hurt any less.

“Done…” Koki murmurs.

Junno leans his head back to meet Koki’s eyes, his cheek pressing just on the inside of Koki’s thigh. Maybe it’s intentional; maybe just one of those things he knows he can get away with. The pair of eyes he meets are steady, scared like an animal about to bolt.

Junno smiles, shifting around so his back rests on Koki’s calf, almost hyper aware of Koki’s legs parting very easily to make room for him. Some type of heat created especially for him. Whatever his stories said, he was meant to meet Koki.

The straightening iron is hissing, steam rising. “Let me do yours,” Junno says because he thinks the act will feel liberating, an outlet for the stirring cannonade rattling between them.

Koki offers a faint nod, lips compressing as his eyes shift away.

It’s only after the first time he winds one of Koki’s curls around the iron that the image of the villain’s expression strikes him again. He looks down at his own fingers curved into Koki’s hair and the greed he feels, deeper than any hunger scares him.

 

 

“It’s a cabin in the middle of a forested island.”

“Across a huge lake in a rowboat? And you want to go there?”

“With you.”

Sifted shock of breath, and while he agrees, Koki keeps his distance thereafter. Something in the way his hand curls around his own arm, nervous, knows there’s something unfamiliar between them.

“I’ll row us across that lake,” Junno said. “Trust me.”

 

 

The fairytale villain always wants beauty, rare possessions of wealth, and magical things that sing. Junno just wants Koki. Badly. He thinks of Koki sometimes and he sees pale pinks and oranges on the water-stained edges of his memory. The illustrations in his book come differently, though. These purified, diluted pastels are haunted by decay--blacks and greys—and Junno runs his fingers over these pages sometimes, knowing there’ll be a black ink residue left in the creases of his fingerprints, beneath his fingernails.

Koki doesn’t leave that stain. So Junno affirms when he runs his palms up Koki’s spine, arms, the secret touches that aren’t supposed to have meaning no matter how guarded Koki looks when he comes near, no matter whether he makes Koki smile sometimes. _Sometimes._

When they’re on television, meant to be talking—paying attention—that’s when he takes his biggest risks. Pressing close, eyes following his reaction, reaching out to just the hem of Koki’s shirt. Ignore them, the others blinking at him, theories developing behind Maru’s stony gaze. Koki would never have the nerve to ask. _Why?_

Only he really knows why.

Fortuitous villainy.

 

 

“You need to stop.”

The statement startles him, coming from Nakamaru. And his arm hurts where Maru’s urgent fingers close on it, dragging him out of the dressing room.

He knows what Maru is talking about though, and he can’t stem the curl of irritation, can’t stop his own private outrage. “I’m not a stranger, Nakamaru.”

Trust isn’t a switch, something you can flick on or off. It’s either that Nakamaru knows Koki or he _knows_ Junno. Or both.

“No, no you’re not, so you ought to know why I don’t like what you’re doing.”

“I like him.”

“Do you?”

“More than I’ve liked other people, I guess.”

“That isn’t enough…”

The desperation of this statement is almost humorous, like Junno’s wants are a dosage. Take two pills of Junno wanting to run his lips over…Nakamaru only glares when he laughs. He sobers, and looks around the door at Koki in their dressing room, headphones on, eyes shut. He sighs, feeling the virus in it. “I don’t see why it can’t be simple. He could like me too... easily.”

“You’re right. Koki… falls for people too quickly. And you… lose interest even quicker.”

He chews his lower lip, waits, and Koki must feel his stare because his eyes peak open and meet Junno’s, staring at him around the door. His hesitant smile is shaken, and that kind of disquiet is charming. Maru pulls on the back of his t-shirt. “Well?” he hisses.

Junno brushes Maru’s touch away. “Koki isn’t a hobby; he’s a mentality.”

“You…”

He doesn’t finish. Junno doesn’t let him because Koki is coming toward them.

 

 

“What do you want to do when we get to the other side?”

Junno has given it thought. For him, it’s the simple act of taking him away—not forever, just-- but it isn’t something he can put into words correctly without sounding manic. He nods thoughtfully as if the answer takes some consideration. “We can look around; the weather’s good. Let’s... “ He trails off, acting like the single gesture of pushing his hair out of his eyes takes concentration.

Koki is sitting upright now, no longer relaxed. He fidgets, looking out at the water. Escape plan. “I still think we should go back… do this another day.”

Junno has told so many from memory, it’s hard to keep track sometimes. Distraction is needles. “There was once a boy who killed himself on honey and wine…”****

.

Junno is confident, candid and insincere. Koki is secretly shy and volatile with his plethora of social complexes. While Junno manipulates conversation with ease, Koki’s replies go from derisive looks to sheer outbursts of frustration. Junno thinks Koki is cool, a messy appeal to him that Junno has only ever read in comic books. For the longest time, Koki wouldn’t meet Junno’s eyes; that’s something different from dislike, that’s…

Koki’s soft, lonely eyes squint when he smiles, whole face turning up in his most reluctant grins, the brush of hair on his jaw feels rough against the back of Junno’s hand. And Koki doesn’t move when Junno doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t put words—categories—to long finger-glances.

“Wha…?” Koki will breathe in some bewilderment and Junno’s busy ignoring Maru’s pursed frown as he makes this purposeful, silent contact with Koki.

“There’s somewhere I want to go with you. It’s far, but I’d like for us to go together.”

His knuckles trace down to Koki’s chin and now even Ueda glances over, exchanging a heavy puzzled gaze with Maru’s sigh. Koki expels a shuddering laugh, batting Junno’s hand away, shy lonely eyes darting everywhere but back at him.

They need to get out of here; Junno needs him alone.

He finally understands the enchantment of a glass coffin.*****

 

 

“…since you look so good in dresses…let’s dress you as little red riding hood,” he mutters one day, leaning toward his microphone. Looking at Koki for any length of time makes him say these things, thrills and risks to the point that Koki’s response is default laughter.

Koki is now used to Junno breaking into his fairytales, used to his odd segues into worlds that don’t exist, used to Junno as a whole. Koki’s chuckles lick up against the horror of Junno who can’t look away, not for anything. They’re on the air for fuck’s sake…

“And you’re the Big Bad Wolf…” Koki says. His rough jaw is pillowed on his small, round palm, painted silver fingernails tapping a rhythm on his cheek. He looks directly at Junno, and—oh—for once it’s a challenge.

“I’d gobble you up.”

It stays like that, the horrid promise, and if only there was somewhere far…The Water of Life being tucked between two mountains, but Junno doesn’t want to go searching for anything.

It means he isn’t the hero. His acceptance of this, within these seconds, crumbles like catharsis.

“That place I was talking about before,” he says that evening as Koki shrugs on his jacket. “Let’s go there this weekend.”

Koki is tired, distracted, troubled—no telling—but he nods; lazy smile as usual blinking up at him. Junno’s been certified insane somewhere within the spaces of Koki’s logic, so he gets that look whenever things get too weird. It was however little red hood had seemed like the moment she’d looked deep into the eyes of the wolf and called it family.

 

“Taguchi, that’s enough. You’re tired; I can see it. If you want to go back, I’m okay with that.”

His pants are turning into voiced sighs, gasps because no, no _no_. This isn’t how you steal something.

Junno’s stiff fingers fall away from the oars and he bows his head, sucking in the fog settling around them. “I don’t want to go back, Koki,” he can only say. “I don’t want…”

“Is there anything you actually do want?” he asks it like an accusation. Something about being too cold to enter anything with passion. Shallow Junno.

Why? The whys are beginning to sting.

Because the reasons that piece with each one hurt even more.

 

 

Their relationship is comprised of first times. The first time Junno was ever insulted and found the malicious words funny. (It was the tone; exasperation has never been more adorable.) The first time Junno didn’t get anxiety when he walked in on a mess of books, movies, and blankets on Koki’s living room floor. (He’d never been invited over before and he was too excited.) The first time Koki touches him and Junno doesn’t freeze. (It’s how he does it: arm coming around Junno’s waist casually, cheek pressed awkwardly on Junno’s shoulder. )

It’s a statement: I don’t dislike you.

Koki’s fingers curl into his shirt, hips aligned with his and Junno wonders why he doesn’t let people do this to him. As the heat of the memory bothers him, he knows why.

Technically, they both should know why.

 

 

The lake is vast, almost unending. The sky is perfect dark now and as the boat sways right and left, Junno grips the sides, digging his nails in the wood.

Koki snaps like vicious things when he’s nervous and right now his knees are shaking. “So we’re stopping here…in the middle of the lake?”

“I don’t know,” Junno says. He massages his numb fingers.

“You have a problem with doing things halfway…” Koki laughs a little, shaking his head, disdain leaking in the edge of his wry smile. “Nakamaru was right...”

That strikes him backward, a blow from somewhere deep underneath. Nakamaru shouldn’t have… He’d retort, but it’s one of those rare moments when the words won’t come to him. “I can finish something if I wanted to. But nothing has been worth it so far.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be worth it, right? You’ll just jump in randomly and then pull out before _you_ get hurt.” His voice is an infantile growl.

Junno uses his energy to breathe. “It’s never been like that.” Hasn’t it? How could Nakamaru know? Anyone that’s known him has-- and the calm is stifling, so ridiculous. Did he ever finish that book of fairytales? Two hundred and ten stories numbered out in the contents; did he ever… “This is my idea; this is what I want.”

“If it’s what you want, then why… _why_ …” Koki has his own hands braced on the sides of the boat as it sways between their sentences, threatening an explosion of water, a discovery of the black ink underneath them.

“Why,” Junno echoes. “My fingers hurt…my arms. I’m not strong enough.” He feels dignity, rough and crossroads, spill around the edges of his shaking lips. “I’m scared.”

What if Koki can’t stay as long as Junno wants him to? What if Junno really is that villain, stealing and lying? What if it’s unhealthy? What if it’s breeding a virus between them both? What if the fairytales are the only oil that smoothens their tie? What if…

What if this is just a boat ride?

“Bastard, I’m probably more scared than you are. Why do _I_ have to be the first one to take that risk?”

The mist over the water signifies the hour. Phosphorescence glints and glitters with each tug of their little boat. Junno wants to say something conclusive, argumentative, make the reality of what they’re talking about go away. “We’re not…talking about the boat anymore, are we?” he whispers, trying to massage life back into his hands again.

Koki stares at him like he hates him, but that it hurts to do so. “We never were,” he mutters. “Asshole,” he adds as an afterthought.

Junno shakes with renewed soft chuckles. Of course. It must be cold for him to shiver this badly.

However, Koki reaches out, small hands prying Junno’s fingers open, unlocking their stiffness. Koki presses so Junno feels his knuckles pop with some relief. The way the boat drifts, drags long steady ripples in the now black water and there are other sounds, noises of the evening as different as the contrast of day. Creatures in the trees. Koki’s knees brush his and without thinking Junno smiles, his palm still under Koki’s small fingers.

“I’m not doing this alone, if that’s what you think,” Koki snaps and it’s all harmonics for the same want. Junno can’t stop his relieved laughter even when he closes his fist on the back of Koki’s hoodie. Even when his laugh feathers over Koki’s lower lip, mixed in with nerves, the catch in Koki’s sigh is what he swallows first.

 

 

His fairytale book has long since gone through the pattern of decay. And that is it. The plain volume of his attraction and the stagnance of a story, retold and never changing is the reason he forgets, the reason he can’t go on with his secrets and fears. Both villain and hero in his want. Tuned to one thing despite its sting. Not a fairytale of his own. His time with Koki will be a stalling thing dependent on the force of his own words, his own actions, airy and off-putting without rhythm or the familiarity of repetition. Progressive.

An arioso.

 

 

**Omake : An Allegro **

It’s not that cold with Koki’s mouth open under his, thin fingers pulling on his jacket and the thrill of the boat rocking beneath them. Koki tastes like a whole manner of things, toxicity from an earlier smoke, bitter from an apple slice he’d bitten into earlier, but the hunger in the way he presses close makes it shockingly sweet. The sweep of his tongue and the soft growls of his breath fill Junno with more daring. He brings an arm around Koki, tugging him closer so he falls back and the boat hikes up.

They both stop breathing with Koki’s thighs pressed on either side of his hips and the boat shaking them, pressing them tighter together as each wave. The wood creaks and their eyes meet. “Can we…do this?” Koki whispers.

Junno, resting on his elbows, leans forward, catching Koki’s lip between his teeth for a second’s nibble. He’s delirious. “I don’t care.” He says it like it’s just coming to him. Koki isn’t heavy at all but whenever he shifts the boat tilts threateningly and Koki’s thighs clench against Junno and his heartbeat doesn’t slow.

This will be incredible either way.

Lips still exploring, Koki slides his hands back over Junno’s shoulders, closing his fingers against his upper arms as Junno pulls him down almost forcefully. Junno laps at him languidly, letting his tongue glide over Koki’s, slowly and a little shyly. The hem of his t-shirt rides up as Koki slips a bit higher over him, burying him in warmth and muscle and the boat creaks once more punctuating the call of a strange night animal. There’s something about this little test, lips pressing and tasting, that strikes Junno as pleasure sacred. He pulls on Koki’s hoodie, rushing his palms underneath the thick fabric and feeling skin at last and Koki moans a little in his mouth, refreshing and almost relieved when Junno’s thumbs trace the hard lines of his stomach.

The want for skin, racing with each touch, and not knowing quite yet where they’re going with it is what makes this process so much more delicious. He only lays back when Koki lets him go, breathing in succinct desperations; hot and flushed with fingers now scrambling at Junno’s belt buckle, undoing him. It’s almost a revelation with the way he’s hard and Koki’s touch close there makes him tremble, sensation like flash fire, and on a single whim he hikes himself up against Koki, brushing his hips upward and their eyes meet. Koki sucks in his lower lip as if in a sudden fright, ache against ache. “Ah,” Junno says, shutting his eyes and Koki grows more daring at the sound. Junno lets his head fall back, holding the boat steady as Koki drags his pants down and he’d be shaking if it weren’t for the heat flooding his pores, his head.

A single kiss near his navel and he already has to clap his hand over his mouth in agony. Junno has no idea what sound he’s about to emit, but the freedom in it, Koki’s finger tips dragging against the waistband of his boxers; he’s never had it before. He screws his eyes shut, feeling surprisingly shy when Koki pulls his boxers down, and freezing a little when the boat tips to the right. He feels a palm snake up and around his cock and his fingers curl into the side of the boat as his other hand remains against his mouth, back of his hand pressed to his quivering lips.

A pause and Junno opens his eyes. Koki is staring down at him, lips wet and a raging storm of a gaze. “You hold the boat steady…I’ll hold onto you,” he murmurs a little coyly and Junno’s stomach somersaults.

He doesn’t expect Koki’s mouth next, closing over him. His tongue is hot and a little rough as he slides it up the underside of Junno’s cock and holding the boat steady becomes the least of his problems as his knees curl up involuntarily and he trembles. He doesn’t dare close his eyes, though it’s dark, because he doesn’t dare miss any part of this. Koki breathes out, feathering a burning breath over the slit before he tongues it with surprising skill. It’s sort of an even bigger effect the way Koki reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ears before he opens his mouth completely and takes Junno in without pause. His tongue flattens against him and he hollows his cheeks before sliding upward and Junno can’t resist the arch of his legs kicking against the sides of the boat nor the tremulous sounds that jump from somewhere deep inside him, falling out as he bucks helplessly upward into Koki’s mouth. Koki takes it in like it’s nothing and his thumbs press down on Junno’s shaking hips as he finds himself a rhythm, bringing Junno deep into his throat, uttering the lowest of growls and vibrating Junno’s whole being.

He wants to let go of the boat’s sides and reach out and touch Koki, run his fingers through his hair as he bobs up and down, taking him in almost greedily. Koki’s mouth is perfectly awe-inspiring and burning with each pattern. Rhythmically conquering him in and out, creating a perfect wet vacuum. These thoughts shatter his brain cells and Junno knows he’s making soft, desperate noises as a result.

“Koki…I’m…I can’t!”

Koki makes a sound of acknowledgement and the rumble of his low vocals shakes Junno to his deepest interior and he feels a part of the boat’s wooden panel come apart in his fingers as he grips tighter, feeling the current ride down his body. It slashes him in half, white and immense, raking his limbs with static and his head falls back against the bottom of the boat, his ears roaring while Koki presses down on his stomach, mouth still open over him bringing him to just on the inside of his lips, squeezing him just under the head. That destroys him and he gasps, feeling the release shudder out of him and Koki doesn’t let go.

When he opens his eyes, the stars are out, shielded by the faint wisps of deep grey cloud. Koki glances at him a little heatedly before he leans over the side of the boat and spits. Junno tries not to laugh or share the sentiment that he’d like for Koki to swallow. Something about that would be…

He opens his arms, sitting up. “Come here,” he whispers.

Koki’s eyes are caramel in the dark and his whole body is hot. Junno quickly runs his tongue up his own palm before shifting into Koki’s jeans, curling his fist around Koki. “Now you hold on,” he says, pulling Koki into the crook of his arm, almost cradling him in all his perpetual smallness. Koki bites his lip and screws his eyes shut as Junno tugs him off, sliding with deeper need as if he were doing it to himself. Koki’s makes these unbelievably irresistible mewling sounds and he turns his face into Junno’s chest, his straight dark hair shielding him, when the strokes get faster. It’s so difficult not to enjoy the way he’s rendered helpless and he squeezes tighter before he runs his thumb down the single vein almost coaxing it out of him.

He loves the way that Koki’s body moves over his own, scrambling and lost in those last few seconds. The boat nearly capsizes and good amount of lake water pours over the bow just as Koki convulses with his release in his arms and Junno begs Koki’s gasping mouth open with his tongue, ignoring the tilt or the weight of the water soaking through his sneakers.

Junno never brings up the swimming halfway across a lake at night part of their first night together.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *From the Grimm tale "The Juniper Tree". A boy was born so beautiful that his stepmother hated him and chopped his head off, burying him under the Juniper Tree where his original mother made the wish for him.  
> **From, "The Griffin"An enchanted boat that could float on land and a king that was thrown into the middle of the lake and drowned immediately  
> ***In the original tale of Rapunzel, the woman who kept her chopped her hair off in a fit of desperate and jealous rage and sent Rapunzel off to live in the desert.  
> ****"The Poor Boy In the Grave" is about a boy who, having been told that honey was poison and that wine would make you mad, tried to kill himself with these and wound up overfed and drunk thereby dying ironically. :S  
> ***** "The Glass Coffin" was about a beautiful woman kept away in a glass coffin by a villain greedy to perserve her beauty


End file.
